


Shape of His Heart

by Lirillith



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mid-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirillith/pseuds/Lirillith
Summary: Setzer and Edgar start out in the engine room and end up at the end of the world.
Relationships: Edgar Roni Figaro/Setzer Gabbiani
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Shape of His Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youjik33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/gifts).



"So here we are," Edgar says, when they're finally alone. Alone on the deck of an airship that Setzer had buried with his heart and then raised from the dead. Edgar's habitual frivolity feels out of place here, but so does some expression of sympathy, or questions about the matter Setzer had quietly, matter-of-factly revealed in the tomb; a dead woman, an airship, and grief. If he wants to play the specifics close to his chest, Edgar wants to respect that. At the same time, he wants to be up here, next to this man and the clouds, and he can't abide the silence much longer.

So what he finally says is, "You look well," which is such a blatant lie that Setzer just laughs out loud.

"Well, the other sentence that came to mind is 'It's good to see you again,' and surely you see that's even worse!"

"I'm not sure how. At least it's closer to honest!" Setzer is laughing far more than the situation merits, Edgar feels; he's actually wiping tears from his eyes. Edgar's never seen him laugh so hard. Has he ever seen Setzer laugh at all? Pique is gradually replaced by a warm feeling he doesn't care to name. 

"It would have been perfectly honest, even if it was trite," Edgar says. It was good to see him again, even like this, even after everything that's happened. Especially after everything. Setzer, wiping his eyes again, sits down on the deck, and Edgar follows suit.

"Thank you," Setzer says. "I think I needed that."

"Clearly. It wasn't that funny on its own merits."

"No, it was funny. I do have a mirror, Edgar."

"Do you? Really?"

"If it's that bad, I'll go shave," Setzer says.

"I'd prioritize bathing, personally," Edgar says. "If it were me."

"Is that a bid to join me?"

There's the opening he was looking for, he supposes. But what to do with it?

"Would we have enough privacy to enjoy it?"

"We wouldn't even have enough room for two. There's a shower, but it's tiny, and no tub."

Edgar clutches his heart. "You shock me, sir." The Blackjack had a marble tub as fine as any of the royal baths, though the hot water situation had called for careful planning before its use.

"The Falcon was built for speed," Setzer says. "Daryl always laughed at me for weighing the Blackjack down."

"And here I always thought of you as completely unfettered," Edgar replies.

"Only compared to you, Your Majesty."

Edgar makes a half-bow, acknowledging the strike. 

"It should be able to accommodate everyone, though," Setzer continues. "The sleeping quarters, I mean. I may have to add some partitions, to allow for individual cabins, but there's enough space for beds for a dozen. And the seating area."

"I wasn't expecting that, based on the sleek exterior."

"That was..." Setzer clears his throat. "That was my addition, when I reconstructed it. She'd dedicated the whole space to backup systems. I suppose I thought she might want to take some dead ancestors for a spin around the afterlife."

His tone's light, but the couches were real, if dusty, and Edgar can tell the sentiment is, too. The attempt to give the beloved dead the send-off they deserve, the afterlife you wish for them, when you can never know if any part of them lives on. 

"My brother told me of a train that takes the dead to the next life," Edgar says, leaving out the part where his brother actually grappled with that train. "Not just a story — he encountered it. It was heartening, really. To know that at least that much exists." He clears his throat, too. "I hope for her it was an airship."

Setzer blinks a few times, and bites his lip. Edgar had seen him weep precisely once, tears streaming unheeded down his face as he argued with Celes in the bar in Kohlingen. Possibly it was just earlier today, or the morning before. That had been a product of drunkenness, anger and despair; sober grief is a different matter, and Edgar understands the need to hide the wound. 

"I hope so, too," Setzer says, finally, his voice still a little watery. 

The two of them had an arrangement, before the world ended, born of hours down in the engine room — sailing through the skies was faster than doing the same by sea, but it still took time — where they'd sometimes even eat their meals. There was always something to tinker with, some part to check for wear, some odd noise Setzer wanted to investigate. They shouted banter at each other over the roar of the machinery along with their observations and suggestions. 

It was refreshing. Edgar wasn't used to feeling quite so _seen_ by the people around him at all times; for all he knew, most of his guards actually believed the masquerade of a skirt-chasing fool, the Empire's puppet king. But now here he was with Sabin, and Locke, who knew just as much about his sorrows and rages as Edgar knew of Locke's, and then Celes, clear-eyed and ruthless, had pierced his deepest secret within a week's acquaintance. Setzer not only didn't see through to his soul or plumb the depths of his past — he wasn't even trying. It was nice to spend some time in the shallows with a fellow engineer who just wanted to worry about worn cogs and let a hand fall on Edgar's knee now and then, and linger, as they trashed certain Jidooran machining practices and laughed about bridge design in Vector. 

So when Setzer, one day, said "come to my room and I'll show you," supposedly in reference to blueprints, Edgar agreed, and Setzer had in the end shown him how his bed folded down and what he could do with his mouth. They were both experienced with men, just one of the many topics they didn't discuss. If anything about Daryl had surprised Edgar, it was the revelation that she was female.

It had been a day of surprises, though. When they walked into the tavern in Kohlingen, Setzer had been immediately recognizable, and yet almost unrecognizable — the silver hair was lank and greasy, his clothes were stained with wine and various other unidentifiable dribbles and spatters, and he reeked of sweat and alcohol. Edgar had felt a competing pair of heart-seizing shocks; joy that Setzer was alive, and pain to see him so lost to despair. Celes had no such compunction, and she'd marched up to him, grabbed him by the arm, and refused to give up until she had him on his feet. 

"I'll mind the controls," Edgar says now. "Go take a shower. Sleep, if you want to." 

"I may," Setzer says, and "Thank you," and Edgar acknowledges that with a nod and a wave as Setzer stands up, stiffly, and lumbers across the deck with the gait of a man older and more tired than either of them ought to be. 

A few hours pass, with the wind in his hair and his thoughts for company. Edgar's ruminating on Seter's comment about how many could sleep here. How optimistic is he regarding locating all their old companions? Sabin and Celes told him they'd located Terra. They think they have a lead on Cyan, right now. He has a feeling Locke could survive anything, despite the fact that their questions around town hadn't turned up a sighting of him. Though he's kicking himself now for failing to go visit that creepy herbalist while they were in Kohlingen. If anyone living in the town has seen Locke, he'd be their man. But what of the others? 

They're nearing Zozo, he can tell by the rainclouds. He's never seen that city fully dry. Sometimes it's just spitting a few raindrops, or a light mist, other times it's overcast, just before or after a storm. But he's not sure the sun ever shines on it. And he's also not so sure of his ability to pilot in this weather, so he's relieved when Setzer emerges from the hatch. 

Relieved in more ways than one. He looks like a new man. His hair is clean, back to its usual state of "artfully tousled," as opposed to its previous completely natural and unintentional tousling. He's wearing a clean shirt and trousers, though they're less ornamented and accessorized than usual, and even his coat seems revived somehow. Brushed, maybe? Edgar doesn't know what one does to care for any more leather than goes into his boots.

And, bless him, he's carrying a thermos and two coffee cups. "Seemed a lot of work, but as long as the route up to the deck is a ladder, I can't be carrying open cups," Setzer says, holding them aloft.

"I don't care how the coffee gets to me," Edgar says, taking a mug to hold it while Setzer pours. "But where did you find clean clothes?"

"In your baggage," Setzer says lightly. "I'd like to stop off in Jidoor for something more my style, soon."

"We can do that and perhaps remodel the hatch, after this errand in Zozo?" Though Edgar can't raise any objection to Setzer wearing his clothes. Not as fetching as a petite woman donning his shirt after a tryst, but similar in appeal. He sips his coffee and looks him up and down.

"Like what you see?" Setzer asks.

"I did before, too, but you look more yourself now. Feeling better?"

"I am, yes. Perhaps..."

Edgar waited, but Setzer didn't finish the thought. "Perhaps?" 

"It's nothing."

On collecting Cyan — who'd unaccountably chosen to hole up on the top of a mountain, damn him — they return to Jidoor, to provision the ship and supply their various members. Setzer isn't the only one with no luggage to speak of; Celes has apparently been rotating the same three changes of clothes for weeks. The boutiques of Jidoor are a bit of a challenge — Cyan thinks they're decadent and Celes thinks they're frivolous, and Sabin doesn't see the point to custom tailoring that accommodates his shoulders when he could just keep wearing clothes that keep them free — but a week on the ground, operating on consistent local time, should refresh them all. 

Staying in an inn, with real beds, and baths, leads naturally to Edgar and Setzer resuming their dalliance, though the bantering innuendo has been replaced with nearly speechless encounters, the silence broken only by the sounds of their breathing, the occasional obscene slurp or a muttered direction or request, and "good night" whispered as they fall asleep.

It isn't Edgar's style at all, and after the third night of this, he finally pulls away from Setzer's determined attempts to keep him from speech via sustained kissing. "Setzer," he said, with equal determination, despite Setzer refocusing his efforts on Edgar's earlobe.

Setzer gives a distinctly put-upon sigh. "What."

"If it's such a dreadful chore to speak to me perhaps we should suspend _all_ our intercourse."

"Well, if you'll recall, 'intercourse' has never been a part of this." 

It's true. Edgar had expected to top, and Setzer had declined, and had refused all the offers of lubricants Edgar had on hand — which were multitudinous, because Edgar lived in a desert and worked with machinery, and understood the value of grease and oil. But every balm, ointment, lotion and unguent he proffered was rejected with a "why don't you show me how well it works on you first?"

"You knew perfectly well what I meant," Edgar huffs now.

"I have enough of an idea to try to fight it off! Are you going to try to plumb my unseen depths, now? Or force me to talk about my feelings?"

"You talked about your feelings precisely as much as you wanted to, no more, and I have no desire to drag anything else out of you," Edgar retorts. "You've always left me alone in that regard and I've tried to do the same for you." 

"Then what _is_ the matter?"

"I don't require weighty conversation from you, but I did _enjoy your company,"_ Edgar says, the admission breaking free of him as if it's a confession of love. With a touch of dismay, he wonders if it is.

"Why, your Majesty! I had no idea you harbored such tender feelings for me!"

"See, that's precisely what I mean," Edgar says. "Be sarcastic. Twit me relentlessly about accidentally buying overpriced potions in the auction house. Make dreadful gambling-based jokes at the slightest provocation. Just stop avoiding me, all right?"

In the moonlight, Setzer crosses his arms. "Not if you're going to insult the quality of my wordplay."

A relieved laugh bursts out of him before he can stop it; Setzer's features crease into irritation that no amount of shadow can conceal. "Forgive me," Edgar says. "Perhaps your wit is just too elevated for me. They do say puns are the highest form of humor."

"Who says that?" Setzer demands, but he unfolds his arms when Edgar twines his own arms around Setzer's back.

"People with terrible taste?"

"People like you, then." 

Edgar kisses his neck. "Naturally."

The airship begins to fill up. Cyan and Sabin venture onto the scrap of land that seems to be the remains of the Veldt, and collect Gau. While they're about it they explore a nearby cave, and pull Shadow, of all people, out of a Behemoth's jaws. Gau excitedly impersonates the Behemoth for much of their flight to Thamasa, where they hope, in vain, to find Strago or Relm. They do find a few rumors of Relm's whereabouts, at least, and they leave Shadow in Strago's house to convalesce. 

They help Terra fend off a monster that threatens the menagerie of children she's tending, and they help Relm fight a painting, somehow. They track Locke down in a cave he's stripped of treasure, and he brings back his lost Rachel just to lose her again; there was a time Edgar would have offered considerably more physical comfort, but now he pulls back from the embrace gives Locke a distinctly inadequate-feeling pat on the shoulder, offering to be there if he ever needs to talk. It's not Celes he's thinking of; it's Setzer. 

"I half expected to find Locke in here," Setzer says, when he enters Edgar's cabin. Sabin is out on the Veldt again with Cyan to make sure Gau doesn't stay there, meaning Edgar has the room all to himself.

"And here I thought I was being so circumspect and proper," Edgar says. "Nothing beyond the bounds of friendship..."

"Perhaps I just have a nose for these things."

"Or you're jealous."

"Of _you?"_ Setzer exclaims, with so much scorn Edgar's a bit nettled.

"Well, I did have a similar arrangement with him once," Edgar says. "We simply... let it lapse, without any formal cessation of relations." 

"You make it sound like diplomacy. Did you send an ambassador?"

"What would the ambassador be, in this metaphor?" 

Setzer reaches down to rub his cock through his trousers.

"Then I think you know the answer already."

"And you criticize my gambling wordplay?"

"I don't recall appointing my manhood ambassador to the Gabbiani kingdom," Edgar replied, sitting down on the bed. "You were the one who carried this into the realm of the ridiculous."

"No, my dear, you did that yourself," Setzer says, and then, while Edgar's still processing that unexpected endearment, he adds, "But speaking of diplomacy."

"Yes?" Edgar's expecting a come-on, especially when Setzer sits down next to him.

"I've always wondered. One day, Figaro is the Empire's obedient ally. The next, the castle has vanished beneath the sands and the Empire has invaded the remaining territories. I understand about the castle! But the rest — why the sudden reversal?"

Edgar sighs. He's become more accustomed to being known, after all this time with companions rather than a court. But he doesn't really like speaking of his father's death. "It wasn't sudden," he says. "I opposed the Empire for years, in secret. They poisoned my father — hoping to destabilize the kingdom, I think. They must have expected my brother and I to _want_ the throne, to fight over it."

"I've heard about that coin toss."

"Oh, everyone has. The funny thing is, you're part of that story too."

"I am?"

"Remember when you kidnapped Celes? That coin?"

"No!" Setzer's face is a picture of shocked delight. "You conned your brother out of the kingdom? That doesn't sound like you."

"He didn't want it. Neither of us did. So I set it up to let him free. Heads meant he won, and he could choose."

Setzer's mouth opens, but a moment later, without speaking, he closes it again. Edgar reaches into his pocket for the coin, rubbing his finger over the edge. _Too much,_ he thinks. _Too deep._ He doesn't mind Setzer knowing; the fear is that he'll withdraw if he feels this is all too intimate.

"You weren't born to responsibility, then."

"I'm not sure I follow. 'Born to responsibility' is more or less the definition of royalty."

"Oh, born to that, but not to embracing it."

Edgar pulls the coin out, turning it over between finger and thumb. For the first time in years, he lets himself imagine the little workshop in Jidoor he used to dream of. Their father hadn't been old; he and Sabin had both had reason to believe they might have years of relative independence, years when their presence in the palace might be welcome but not required.

An imaginary Edgar, at twenty or twenty-one, meeting a young, reckless gambler who wanted to build an airship. He could imagine it, but what was the point? 

"May I see it?" Setzer asks, quietly, and Edgar's so relieved not to have to think up any badinage to lighten the mood that he hands it over without hesitation. 

Setzer scrutinizes one side, then the other. "It's the two of you," he says. "Harder to tell which one's which when you weren't wearing your hair so differently, but it was custom-made, wasn't it?"

Edgar nodded. "I commissioned it with a goldsmith myself. I intended it for a gift for my father, in fact, but then he... began to fall ill." He doesn't want to talk about it, or think of it, after Setzer left the first mention of poison alone.

Setzer offers the coin back, depositing it gently in the palm Edgar holds out. "Thank you," Setzer says, gravely. "For telling me."

"It's..." Edgar struggles to find the words. _The secret's already out_ isn't quite right, though the most important people know. And _It's nothing_ certainly isn't accurate. "It's a relief," he surprises himself by saying. "I knew at least one of your secrets, and now you know one of mine."

"I thought I _was_ one of yours," Setzer says.

Edgar's a little taken aback. True, they've been pretty sneaky, and he'd always sort of assumed he'd marry a woman and have an heir, one day, in the far, far distant future. And then the thought would make him nervous and he'd determinedly think about something else. But he hasn't been terribly discreet about many of his dalliances, even if the most outrageous flirting is aimed at women. "I think the fact I 'enjoy the company of men' is an open secret," he says, finally. "At least among the palace staff. The succession is hardly on anyone's mind right now. And as for all the sneaking around, I don't mind if you want to put a stop to that and be open about it."

"I don't care about that," Setzer said. "Playing things close to the chest while seeming not to is how I've always lived my life." 

"It's your call," Edgar says, and pockets the coin. "I suppose the day might come when we need to revisit the topic, but first we have to survive Kefka."

"And you expect me to still be in your life after all that?"

Edgar winces a little. It's true. He's been assuming that this might continue for the foreseeable future; assuming that they'd go on as they were. Which tells him more than enough. "I hope you will be, but that's your call as well," Edgar says, lightly, and busies himself about unlacing his boots so he doesn't have to see Setzer react. 

"Perhaps I will be," Setzer says. "Are we disrobing, then?"

"I don't wish to keep you if you don't wish to stay," Edgar says, even if the double meaning is a little on the nose, "but I'd like to go to bed soon, with or without you."

"As you wish," Setzer says, and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

They scale, and plunder, a tower erected by a group of lunatics who worship Kefka as a god. They trudge through the ghost town Narshe has become, and come back with a yeti and a moogle recruited to the cause. And finally, ready as they'll ever be, they go up higher than Edgar had thought possible to infiltrate Kefka's own tower. 

It's the end of the world. The world itself has ended, but that was a year ago. The better part of two, really. But this tower is the end of the world, the only thing that will be left if they fail in their task, and it looks and feels the part. Some areas seem just to be rocks and dirt, others are oddly organic, almost flesh-like, and still others were clearly picked up from the Magitek facilities and deposited down in one piece. "I feel guilty saying it," Edgar whispers to Setzer one night, "but I almost wish I'd been able to watch him build this place."

"Me too!" Setzer exclaims. "I wouldn't dare say it to anyone else."

They've split into teams, and Edgar and Setzer are traveling with Strago and Relm, a decision Celes made for her own unaccountable reasons. Strago has been leaving the two of them in privacy with such broad winks that Edgar can only feel their concerns about privacy and secrecy were entirely wrong-headed. If even Strago has reached the correct conclusions regarding the two of them, surely his own brother has noticed something.

But it's a relief, in a way, to know that all they can do is confirm Strago's suspicions, and so Edgar hasn't felt any compunction about sitting close to Setzer when they make camp, about pulling him close in their shared tent at night. About the fact that they have that shared tent. 

And now, here they are. Edgar has been hopelessly disoriented since the moment they lost sight of the sky, but Setzer and Strago have concluded they're very close to Kefka's inner sanctum, and the hum of magic in the air makes Edgar believe them. Their paths seem to have converged; Gau scaled a wall recently to peer at them and say hello, so now they know, thanks to Gau carrying messages, that all the others are well. 

Most likely, tomorrow will be the decisive battle, or the beginning of it. And so tonight, though everyone is trying to rest, Edgar is simply keeping watch, and he's only mildly surprised when Setzer emerges from the tent to join him by the fire.

"So here we are," Edgar says, as Setzer settles next to him. "We're... what, down near ground level now?" 

"Possibly," Setzer says, "but my guess would be that we're higher than that, and higher than the lowest point we reached."

"Really?" They'd started at the top and gone down, and that's all Edgar can really tell. There'd been some climbing as well as descending, but that's all he knows. 

"It's a guess," Setzer says, modestly. "I suspect we'll find out soon, when we fight him." 

"That goes without saying," Edgar says. Setzer's shoulder is warm against his, even with the leather coat and Edgar's own cloak between them. "And tomorrow it's all decided, one way or the other."

"Leaving things in the hands of fate doesn't come naturally to you, does it?" Setzer says.

"No. Never. Fate's there to be fought, not just accepted."

"Fate is the outcome after the fighting," Setzer corrects him. "Maybe our fate is to die tomorrow or maybe it's to live. We won't know until it's done."

Edgar reaches for his coin, but stops with his hand in his pocket. "I still feel you're using one word for two different concepts." 

They've had this conversation before — escalating it to an argument, more than once — but now's not the time for a repeat. Now is the time for either saying things because it may be the last chance, or for holding them on superstitious faith that it won't be, but Edgar's not sure which way to go.

"Leaving it in the hands of fate doesn't come naturally, and neither does hedging your bets," Setzer says. "Am I right?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"A good rule of thumb is not to leave something unsaid if you think, after the death of the person you speak to, you'd forever regret not telling them."

Edgar's heart, catching up with the conversation, is thudding painfully against his sternum. "That does sound like a wise guideline," he says, his mouth dry.

"And having already come down on the wrong side of that once, I don't aim to do so again. I've fallen in love with you, your Majesty."

For all the ceremonious buildup, the clarity of Setzer's voice over the crackle of the campfire, the weight of the past in Setzer's lead-in to the confession, Edgar still can't quite believe it. "You... you have?" he stammers, his mouth no less dry than before. He fumbles at his feet for his canteen, but his hands are shaking too much for him to attempt the lid right now. 

Setzer gives him a level, unimpressed look, and Edgar gives up and shakily tries his canteen anyway. A moment later, Setzer gently relieves him of it.

"It's just that I thought I was the one who'd be saying something like that," Edgar says. "And that you'd be... I don't know, putting me off until after the battle, most likely. Or offering to toss a coin or roll some dice to decide how you felt about me in return."

"This is a remarkably roundabout way of saying, 'I love you too,' you realize."

"You caught me off-guard!"

Setzer passes him the canteen, and Edgar drinks, greedily, grateful for the distraction. _I've fallen in love with you._ "You really do have quite the poker face," Edgar says, wiping his mouth. "I genuinely had no idea."

"Interesting," Setzer says. "I would say you make me lose my composure more than anyone has in quite some time."

"Orgasm is no indicator of your _feelings,_ " Edgar retorts. "I assumed you saw us as friends. Friends with benefits."

"At first," Setzer agrees, still so damnably composed. 

"This is so infuriating I almost don't want to unburden myself after all," Edgar says. "Regrettably, I seem to have feelings for you too, you bastard."

"A king, a scholar, and he still doesn't know better than to insult a Jidooran's mother by implication," Setzer says, to the sky. "Perhaps we _should_ toss a coin to determine how we feel about each other."

"I think I have just the coin." Edgar pulls it out, finally, and flips it into the air. 

"Heads," Setzer says sardonically, and leans his own head on Edgar's shoulder, just as Edgar catches the coin.


End file.
